


Being Blue

by cecilkirk



Series: fic prompts [1]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:39:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6069031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilkirk/pseuds/cecilkirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The waves bring back memories...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Blue

Summers on the beach were meant to be enjoyable. Something to look back on in pleasant nostalgia, sepia-toned memories coupled with a wistful grin. Ryan presses his toes into the sand, letting the sun’s warmth on its surface seep into his skin. Waves are starting to form, slowly approaching him from the horizon. He can’t stop their advances.

_“Brendon, stop,” he laughed, alcohol brimming in his voice. The sun had nearly gone completely under and darkness was filling the sky in its absence. He heard screams and shouts down the shore, emanating from the dock. His head swivels back to Brendon when he feels hands on the hem of his shirt._

_“It’s just skinny dipping, Ryan,” he says as he pulls it off swiftly. “No harm, no foul.”_

_“I don’t know about that,” Ryan says, swatting away Brendon’s hands with a smile. He lets his shirt find a new home in the sand._

_Brendon sets his beer down, then pulls off his own shirt. “It’ll be fun. Come on, Ry!” He takes off for the dock in a brisk jog after flashing one final grin at Ryan._

_Breathing, breathing, Ryan plunges his bottle into the sand, stepping out of his flip flops. What weak remnants of light stain the sky paint Brendon’s body as he traverses the beach, and he resembles a lighthouse for just a moment: a fleeting pinprick of light among a sea of darkness._

_Ryan exhales a laugh, stepping into a jog. Cliched, but not far from the truth._

Ryan’s eyes drift down to where the waves meet the sand. The water has lost all of its magnitude and now exists as meager, lapping shyly upon the sand, recoiling, approaching, again and again. He steps so the arches of his feet are right above this barrier, this meeting place, this conduit. The waves now begin to creep between his toes before retreating, bright and deep blue muddling into a clear, adopting the tone of the sand. He has learned he can corrupt a lot of nature with a few actions at the right time.

_“Brendon, stop,” Ryan said. Their faces were inches away. Ryan could see water drip from his hair down his features like translucent fingertips._

_“You know what they say,” Brendon muttered in a drunk gravity, the smirk curling his lips unable to keep his words from slurring. “The ocean is for lovers.”_

_Ryan feels heat bloom in his cheeks. “Or just friends,” he offers, mirroring Brendon’s laugh and stepping back. He feels water lap at his heels, startling him._

_Brendon puts his hands on Ryan’s face, peering into his eyes. Little light trickles down the beach from the residences nearby; Ryan struggles to redefine Brendon’s face from the darkness. “I’m so glad we’re in this band. I love you guys. I love you,” he says. Ryan can see the edges of a smile on his face, but not his eyes._

_Through a faltering, newly nervous laugh, Ryan manages to reciprocate the pleasantry._

_Brendon takes a step toward Ryan and kisses him on the forehead. He drops his hands, posture loosening at the realization of how lighthearted and humorous his actions were. But Ryan can’t see how Brendon grins, a mixture of pride and embarrassment at his alcohol-fueled show of affection._

_Ryan understands it to be nothing short of real, genuine, and moreover, inviting._

_Aware of the darkness surrounding them and the infinitude of the sea behind him, Ryan feels alienated from the world. Actions do not necessitate reactions; reality is suspended, dangling above them for the taking._

_He didn’t feel any desire to reach when he could move laterally, and he’s amazed at how much salt can cover skin. Ryan mentally makes notes of his discoveries: salt could make skin taut and rough; no amount of skin or lips or tongue could fully remove it, and somehow it found under fingernails and saturated into the pores on throats and somehow even on and behind lips and…and–_

Ryan’s jaw clenches. He digs his toes further into the sand.

His eyes follow the waves’ movements in reverse. They all had a beginning; by the time they reached him they were insignificant, but they had been great once. Even if the force they carried had been diminished by time, they still existed. Just faded.

Just weaker.

The ocean regains its true blue color as his eyes float out toward the horizon, deep and crisp and vivacious. What lived now between his feet seemed pitiful, devoid of all its natural color. Nature stripped the water of its visual identity, but deep down, it was still blue if one looked hard enough.

Somewhere, somewhere.

Maybe it would be more kind of the waves just stopped as soon as they lost their color, if they came to a sudden halt. Maybe that meant Ryan wouldn’t be able to reach it. An achey, light sadness fills Ryan’s chest at this thought, clouding his lungs. He would much rather have the waves meet him in whatever way they could than be impeccable and unable to witness directly.

It was best to accept things as they were rather than make them beautiful.

He looks down at the shallow, terse waves. They collided loudly with the sand, with each other. He tries to breathe, but the clouds in his lungs won’t evaporate. The warm, salty air is unable to swirl deep in the recesses of his lungs like it always has before.

Being blue was better than being over it.


End file.
